


Smut Box 2

by Red



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Casual Sex, Collars, Ex Sex, Ficlet Collection, Hipsters, Lapdance, Light Bondage, M/M, Older Characters, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pegging, Public Sex, References to Knotting, Sexting, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fills for the Semi-NSFW meme <a href="http://panzercat.tumblr.com/post/128956334919/semi-nsfw-meme-send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number">over on tumblr</a>! Thank you to everyone who prompted!</p><p>1. ...being drenched whilst wearing something white (canon compliant, post-DOFP)<br/>2. ...having a wet dream and calling the other's name during (canon compliant, XMFC circa Gay Mutant Road Trip)<br/>3. ...sexting (canon compliant, circa X1)<br/>4. ...having a 'friend' over and one interrupting the other (modern/still-powered AU, hipster Erik/Charles + hipster Erik/Magda)<br/>5. ...trying to go down on the other under a table, during dinner (a/b/o historical AU + D/s collarverse mashup, heed warnings)<br/>6. ...tying up the other (modern-day/older/non-powered AU)<br/>7. ...giving the other a lap dance (modern AU)<br/>8. ...bending down in front of the other (modern/still-powered AU, hipster!Erik/Charles)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_(7: … being drenched whilst wearing white; also inspired by[this photoshoot.](http://michaelfassyfastbender.tumblr.com/post/128865835711/michael-fassbender-photograph-by-bruce-weber-for))_

 

“Why’re you in the bathtub?” 

Erik looks up from his book, eyebrows raised. 

“I didn’t know it was suddenly off-limits,” he says, going right back to reading. 

Charles stares at him a moment, wondering if he’s going to be granted any further explanation. Seemingly not: Erik sips at his coffee, content to ignore Charles's presence.

“But you’re usually a little less,” Charles continues, waving a hand to encompass the concept of _fully dressed_ , because here Erik is, wearing his undershirt and a pair of jeans and acting like this is all quite normal, sitting in an empty bathtub. 

“It’s comfortable.” 

“You’re absurd. Look, get out of there, some people have work,” he says, folding his arms. Just because Erik gets to enjoy his Monday morning hanging out, getting high off cast iron, doesn’t mean Charles is going to show up to class without showering. 

Erik closes the book and glares up at him. “You can use the downstairs one. Or the upstairs one. Or any of your _other_ fifteen bathrooms–”

“And you can move for fifteen minutes,” Charles counters, leaning down to steal the book. Erik lets it go, but makes no sign he’ll be so easily evicted. 

“Come on, Erik,” Charles asks, once again. This is ridiculous–bad enough he lets Erik break into the mansion, he’s not letting him interrupt his morning routine. 

“You’ll have to make me,” Erik says, smiling his smug little ‘look-Charles-no-helmet’ grin, and Charles shrugs. 

“All right, then,” and he reaches out for Erik’s powers and raises the handle of the shower head, bringing it to snake over Erik’s head. 

Erik glares at him, but doesn’t sit up. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

But he’s already risking running late, and really–-really he _would_ , so Charles uses Erik’s powers to kick on the water and douse Erik. 

And if he winds up missing his first class anyway, after seeing Erik’s chest, tantalizingly exposed by the sopping, semi-transparent fabric of his undershirt, well... 

At least he makes it to the second. After a very long, very hot shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes: canon compliant, set in XMFC, circa Gay Mutant Road Trip

_(19: … having a wet dream and calling the other’s name during it)_

 

Erik wakes, his pulse hammering. 

It’s only through long practice that he doesn’t startle physically. Eyes still closed, he breathes slow and regular as if still asleep, trying to figure out what it was that woke him. 

In the bed nearby his own--separated only by the shoddy hotel nightstand--Charles moves. 

That’s right, Erik thinks, relaxing. It wasn’t as if he’d been unaware per se of Charles’s presence, but sleeping near someone is always an unknown variable. They may wake or move, snore or speak out in their sleep, or even–-

An image comes through his mind, shadowy yet warm around the edges--as if lit by a hearth, or by candles–-of two bodies. 

He smirks, and rolls over. 

Or, they might broadcast their dreams, private though they may be.

He should be upset having his mind tampered with, but he can’t resent Charles for it. After all, it’s not as if he’s conscious at the moment, and his mutation is so beautifully powerful. 

And as it is, it isn’t as if the images are fully-formed, or even that he can tell what’s going on. It’s quite obvious it's sexual, but he only gets glimpses: a back, a hand, a blanket being shoved away. He could almost ignore them completely, were it not for how affected Charles seems to be by them.

Perhaps, Erik thinks, flushing as Charles lets out a little moan-–perhaps they’re a _bit_ more vivid, in Charles's mind. That, or Charles is quite fond of silhouettes doing vague, apparently tame things. 

Charles turns over again. 

He isn't awake, doesn’t seem to be touching himself. But now he’s lying on his front. Erik tenses up, feeling the heat grow in his own stomach as Charles shifts, as he senses the give of the mattress springs. 

The images, too, shift. With a jolt, they're formed and shockingly graphic: a cock, thick and uncut, fucking into-–a mouth? Erik can’t make out the face, but that’s definitely the impression he gets, and fucking is definitely the word for it. It almost seems like–-like Charles is dreaming of holding someone’s head still, of thrusting his cock hard even as they cough and gag, and Erik swallows and swallows as if it’s happening to him and then he hears Charles groan, one more time. 

“Erik–” Charles grunts against the mattress, and his body relaxes. 

Erik can tell when Charles wakes up, a moment later. He'd moved again in his sleep, and this time, he was all too aware of the state the dream left him--and his pajamas, and the hotel linens--in. 

Erik keeps carefully still, breathing slow and regular once more. Feigning sleep. 

He’s had ages of practice. And though he’s sure he’ll feel Charles raking through his mind–-that maybe he'll be _forced_ to sleep, even-–all he hears is the quiet motions of Charles getting up, and sneaking into the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes: canon-compliant, set during X1/X2 movieverse

_4 … sexting_

 

Charles has the mobile for a few months before the mystery texts start. 

Mysterious, that is, in _how_ they’re happening. Always a different number, always a different time of day, and always the same sender. 

“ _how are you, Charles?_ ” 

“ _i hope you aren’t growing soft in my absence_ ”

“ _newspaper subscription cancelled. tell me, has the mutant cause fallen utterly to ruin?_ ”

The same infuriating, egotistical, _bloody oblivious_ sender. If Charles wanted to hear from Erik, he’d get in a plane, transfer into a plastic wheelchair, ride an elevator underground a few stories, go through seven distinct security checkpoints, and see him. 

Not… _text_ him. 

Anyway, Charles can’t be at all sure Erik would get a return message to begin with. However this is happening is frankly beyond even Charles’s not-inconsiderable ken, so at first he does the reasonable thing, and deletes the messages. 

Then two things happen. 

Charles starts to realize, at times the phone numbers are repeated–-suspiciously in the sequence of the guard rota. 

And the texts become a bit less… academic. 

“ _haven’t heard from you lately, one does hope the great professor is well._ ” 

“ _anticipate you’ll be in top form when next you deign to visit_ ” 

and finally, 

“ _tell me, Charles. What are you wearing?_ ” 

…and that is _it_. Charles isn’t sure how Erik’s got use of the guards’ mobiles, but he sure as hell isn’t going to have his dirty laundry all over some stranger’s phone. Erik’s bound to just keep escalating–-like he always does–-so Charles decides to take his chances. 

“ _A suit_ ,” he types out, “ _What do you want, Erik?_ ” 

There’s a lag of a few minutes, then, “ _Can’t I just catch up with a dear old friend?_ ” and when Charles doesn’t reply, “ _Which suit? Do be more descriptive_ ,” and when he still tries to ignore it, “ _Or is modern technology beyond you? Shall I describe what I’d_ like _you to be wearing, instead?_ ” and Charles bristles and laboriously starts pressing key after absurdly tiny key. Damn Erik, anyway. 

“ _i don’t know how you’re doing this but we’re not writing that here._ ” Charles is fond enough of the letters Erik once wrote, almost fonder still of all the times he penned one in return, but that was one thing. This shrunken aberration of a computer, and the messages possibly being left for someone to find–-

“ _Don’t worry yourself, Charles. Obviously, I’m not touching anything_ ,” he writes, very quickly, “ _and I can wipe it all, after. So tell me._ ” 

Of course, Charles thinks. Erik’s manipulating the phone from afar. And he’d be just as loathe to have the messages found (if only as it would mean the public would become aware the great Magneto is so desperate as to send erotic texts to the lowly Professor X), so Charles types back shortly, “ _Blue one, gold waistcoat._ ” By the time he manages even that much, however, it’s time for the morning staff meeting. He silences the phone.

—

By that evening, the idea of sending dirty letters via cellular technology is so appealing that Charles can’t wait to message Erik again. When he looks at the phone, there’s three messages from earlier: “ _ah, i enjoy that one _,” and “ _dressing up for any particular reason?_ ” and “ _don’t answer that_ ;” and one a bit more recent from a different number, “ _I do hope that wasn't the extent of your literary skills._ ” __

__In his bedroom alone, Charles stares at the phone a minute, racking his brain. It is certainly a new way of doing this, more interactive--somehow at once simpler and yet far more difficult than a letter._ _

__He isn’t sure how to start, now that he’s decided._ _

__In the end, he goes with the first thing that comes to mind._ _

__“ _Well, then, what are you wearing?_ ” _ _

__Later, Charles will remember that the first thing that comes to mind is rarely the right thing to say, and it’s not until much, much later (several new phones into the future, which rather helps matters once things have moved on from miniature keys) that he will finally learn the elusive art of sexting._ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern, still-have-powers AU on this one; also the Erik/Magda tag pertains! Super special thank you to pearlo for all the hours in chat, discussing hipster!Erik, his house, and Charles's increasing confusion with life in Portland.

_17: … having a “friend” over and the other accidentally interrupting.”_

—

It’s been almost two weeks now that Charles has been seeing The Market Guy—long enough that Charles is sure that Raven could deign to upgrade him to “Erik” when he comes up in conversation, just because they’re still at his mandated we’re-keeping-it-causal phase doesn’t mean she knows Charles even _has_ a mandated keeping-it-casual phase—and he’s pretty sure he’s got a hang of things by now.

Yes, it was all a bit of a shock at first: the communal house that seems to at once belong to no one and everyone, the six (or is it seven? eight? do _they_ come and go as well?) dogs, the mattress on the floor Erik shares with more than five canines, the kitchen full of mason jars (homemade whiskey, homemade pickles, homemade salsa, the frankly terrifying kombucha), the rotation of artists filling the living room studio, the _children_ (oh god, he’d never have guessed, _kids_? from the hot mustached guy who works seemingly every booth at the farmer’s market? seriously? kids?), the fact Erik’s ex-wife seems to be the only other permanent resident of the house besides Erik and his kids… Yes. It was a shock.

Just a bit of one. At first.

But all that is well behind him now, Charles tells himself. He lets himself in Erik’s house (Erik gave him a key one week in, though the door honestly never seems to be locked in the first place), and nods to the person on the couch. It’s someone he’s never met, a visibly mutant guy making something bizarre out of quartz and great deal of resin. In the kitchen he finds Janos cleaning out the blender, but otherwise the house seems more-or-less empty.

Erik is home, though, Charles can tell. Likely holed up in his room, hiding from the crystal guy—Erik is into some fairly hippie stuff in Charles’s opinion, but he flat-out rejects any of the stuff about chemtrails or pyramid energies or auras or whatever—and so Charles keeps heading that direction.

He can sense Magda somewhere in the house, too; now that he focuses on it, they’re _both_ in Erik’s room. Erik’s probably getting a lecture from his ex about inviting yet another vaccine conspiracist into the house. _Just because they’re mutant doesn’t mean they’re sane_ , Charles heard her telling Erik once, and now he’s so keen on hearing her tell him off again that he quite possibly doesn’t knock before pushing open the bedroom door.

“What the fuck?” he asks, at exactly the same moment as Magda. He doesn’t know if that’s quite fair—it definitely wasn’t a lecture Erik was getting from his ex-wife—but he slams the door shut and backs up all the same.

Ex-wife. Ex, he’s sure he heard Erik say that before. Right? And even if Erik’s into some hippie stuff, that doesn’t mean he… 

Charles nearly runs over one of the smallish rescued pit bulls in his haste to get away.

“Charles!” he hears Erik call after him, and he tries to navigate out of the house before Erik can catch up. But while the building is surreally accessible for a once-abandoned Victorian, there’s a lot of dog between him and the door, and Erik’s soon beside him.

At least he’s limping, Charles notices. Serves him right, though how could he not with the sheer _size_ of what she'd been wearing—

“Charles, wait,” Erik insists, stepping in front of him so he hasn’t much choice. It’s stop, or run over Erik’s still-bare feet. 

Charles would be lying to say he isn’t tempted.

“What?” he asks, folding his arms. He refuses to look at how good Erik makes a threadbare pink bathrobe look.

“What do you mean, what?”

“I mean, what do you want? Why do you want me to wait? You’re obviously,” Charles glances up at Erik’s face and yes, he looks just as lost as his mind feels, “well. _Busy_.”

Erik frowns at him. “I was. Look, I’m sorry, you didn’t say you were coming over. Is that the problem?”

“No, that is _not_ the—” Charles starts, before shaking his head. How is Erik not getting this? How is this not weird to him? “Aren’t you divorced?”

“Yeah, and I said before, we save a lot on rent this way. We’re still friends, so it works out—”

“It’s not the living together that I’m worried about, it’s the,” Charles looks around, but the only other person in the room is so concentrated on perfecting his orgone pyramids that he and Erik may as well be talking about quinoa. “It’s the _sex_ thing,” he whispers.

Erik stares at him. “’The sex thing’,” he repeats, like Charles is the one being confusing here.

“Yes the sex thing, what else would it be?”

“You said you wanted us to be casual,” Erik points out, and Charles shoots another glance at Crystal Man, but he’s still just as oblivious.

“Well, sure. But— _but with your ex_ , I mean… You’re still together, aren’t you. You live together, have kids together, you’re still sleeping together—” he trails off, because isn’t that everything? Isn’t that pretty much all there is to a relationship?

Slowly, a broad grin spreads over Erik’s face, as if he’s hearing Charles’s thoughts; and he leans down.

“Charles. We can be exclusive, you and I,” he says. His voice is ridiculously sexy, Charles notes, annoyed. No one should say _exclusive_ like that, like it’s bloody pornographic.

“But you and Magda…”

“Are _friends_ ,” Erik says. 

“Maybe there’s more to romance than you think there is,” he continues, sounding smug.

“Maybe,” Charles allows. He’s come to accept a lot, in these last two weeks. Maybe ex-spouses getting in the occasional pegging is just going to be one more item on an incredibly long list.

“Stick around,” Erik says, “and maybe I’ll show you,” and Charles has no doubt at all—exclusive or not, Erik will certainly _try_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Note: this is kind of a powered historical + a/b/o + dystopian-D/s-collar-verse-with-public-sex-being-seen-as-totally-cool mashup, if ANY of those things aren’t your thing?? Also, warning for mention of antisemitism.)

_23: … trying to go down on the other, under the table, during dinner._

\--

He hates this. 

His back itches, sweaty and uncomfortable underneath the traditional corset. His knees throb from kneeling this long. His neck feels wrong, obscenely exposed with only a delicate dinner collar encircling it. 

But worst of all—

Another one of the high-society alphas sitting at the table in front of him laughs, and he automatically straightens his spine, aggravated and embarrassed at once. 

Worst of all are these worthless, vapid alphas. They’re worse, even, than the soft, formally-trained omegas who kneel beside him. At least the omegas aren’t _willingly_ oblivious. All they know is this—how to stay in form, how to carry themselves effortlessly, how to make their alphas proud even when those alphas are nothing, _nothing_ compared to Charles...

_You make me very proud_ , he hears in his mind. With effort, he doesn’t startle visibly, but something of his shock must come through to Charles. 

_Do you think this requires so very much of my attentions, that I couldn’t spare for you, my love?_ , Charles sends. At the very same time, he is speaking with one of the society alphas, skirting artfully around the improper subject of the Gifted—attempting to support their cause, while never speaking directly of it. Erik _had_ , quite frankly, considered that enough to occupy Charles’s thoughts. 

_It appears I am mistaken, then, in one matter_ , he projects in return. _But you know I am not mistaken, that I am an embarrassment to you. You know what they think of me._

He needn’t Charles’s gift, to hear it himself. Even the other omegas titter about him, whenever they’re left alone to eat or prepare to kneel, and he’s heard Charles’s colleagues ask circuitous questions. They’re never improper enough to say anything outright, but the intent is always clear. _Why that_ , they want to know, _why a working omega, why a Jew?_

_I know what they think of you, yes_ , Charles replies. _But you thought it yourself: they are vapid fools, who know nothing. You have every right to be here. They should kneel for you._

The words shock him, though they shouldn’t. Charles has confessed his equalist views before, that he thinks all omegas ought to have the right to work if they so please, that it shouldn’t be seen as unseemly or a necessary evil rooted in poverty. 

He is rarely shy, either, of owning to his affection. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Erik nearly misses the shift in the cadence of Charles’s speaking voice. 

“Well, then, honored guests,” he announces, as the dinner plates are cleared, “shall we talk now of lighter things? And, of course, indulge the whims of our gentle companions.” 

He raises his right hand slightly—gesturing for the after-dinner drinks, Erik will be damned before he remembers all the absurd terminology these people have for their insufferably overwrought meals—before bringing it down again, low to his thigh. 

“Erik, if you would,” he says. 

Moving through a room on hand and knee still galls him, but Erik knows he is at least good at it: rough and unfinished though he may be, the other omegas talk about how very odd it is, him approaching perfectly when he kneels so abysmally. 

He stalks across carpet, to kneel up at Charles’s side. Keeping his eyes lowered demurely, he says the customary words. 

“May I, my lord?” 

It’s a foregone conclusion—as the host and a bonded alpha, Charles is _expected_ to have his omega initiate oral sex—but these alphas do so enjoy ceremony. It would be unseemly, for Erik to just accept Charles’s words as invitation. 

_They just want to imagine we spend our every waking hour dreaming of our alpha’s seed_ , he thinks, loud enough for Charles to know it’s intended to be overheard. 

“Please,” Charles says aloud, lifting the tablecloth for Erik to pass below.

Under the table, it’s blessedly dark. He doesn’t need to see the alphas, to consider their ignorance, to concern himself with how he might impact Charles’s station or their cause. He doesn’t even need to see the other omegas, once they’ve been cued to join him down here. 

Here, in this warm, shadowed shelter—here he can concentrate on Charles. 

He reaches to unbutton Charles’s breeches, to bring out his prick and take it in. The scent of alpha is all-encompassing, the pheromones a shock of calm that burns through his blood. Against his tongue, Charles is still soft, but growing ever more interested. Erik makes a small, nasal whine—for this, too, is expected of him, to be dainty yet explicit with his pleasure—and wonders if Charles will be inspired to flare, if he will hitch Erik’s mouth. 

Above him, Charles laughs, and continues holding court; at his sides, the other omegas start to fill in the empty spaces between their masters’ legs. Alphas with ‘proper breeding,’ as they say, treat this as no more stimulating than the brandy they’re being served. 

In his mind, Charles moans. 

_That’s it, my darling, my dearest heart,_ he sends. _They only imagine it of their omegas, but for you—for you, my love, I know it to be true._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern, non-powered AU that's just a short plotless sequel to [Wednesday](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2012823), aka "the one where Charles has nameless sex with the hot new guy at the nursing home."

_14 ... tying up the other._

\--

“This is still all right?” 

Beneath him, Erik sighs. Charles is concentrating on checking circulation and doesn’t look to see if Erik’s rolling his eyes, too, but it’s a pretty easy bet that he is. 

“I said it was all right, it’s all right,” Erik grouses. Charles is tempted to wrench the rope a little tighter, but he just keeps looping it around in a tie to carefully tether Erik’s left leg to the bed frame. 

“It wasn’t that long you graduated from PT.” He might have got released from the nursing home a few months ago, but Erik kept having to go back to outpatient rehab. Charles thinks himself rather justified in his hesitation. 

Wanda is frightening enough, without him re-injuring her dad. 

“Hmph,” Erik replies. He doesn’t elaborate much beyond that, likely figuring Charles can read his dismissal of any _concern_ well enough without speech. It’s a wonder Erik allowed any of his nurses or doctors to survive at all, with how exceptionally well he does with being fussed over. 

Charles moves on to work on Erik’s right leg, winding the ropes in an intricate pattern before pulling it down to bind him to the bed, and this time he’s sure he isn’t imagining it. 

Slightly, almost imperceptibly, Erik flinches. 

Charles relaxes his hold. “Oh, come on. I felt that,” Charles says, exasperated. He’s not being goaded into billing the Lehnsherr family’s insurance another month of physical therapy, whatever Erik thinks. 

“Felt what?” Erik asks, and Charles pushes himself up to sit by him. 

“Erik, you know you don’t have to prove anything to me--”

“Obviously,” Erik says. Charles swats at his hip, gently. The surgical scar there is still pink, vivid and fresh compared to the rest of Erik’s scars. 

“Then stop trying to do so,” he replies, slowly stroking his palm over, toward Erik’s cock. “Just hold your leg still, there’s a love.” 

Sighing, Erik relaxes, giving himself over to Charles in body--though not completely in spirit, just yet. 

“You could tie me down, you know,” he keeps grousing. “How do you even know you hurt me, perhaps I’m just reacting to your enthusiasm for immobilizing me the moment I’m out of that infernal cast--” 

“Erik?” Charles interrupts, as he shifts downward in bed, and Erik tenses up--this time, Charles knows, in anticipation.

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he says, fondly, as he swallows Erik deep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern-day AU; warning for mention of ableism.

_6: ...giving the other a lap dance._

—

Later, Erik will swear he had absolutely nothing to do with it. 

He obviously wasn’t the one who said anything that Charles could possibly construe as a challenge. That was some asshole at the party Charles managed to drag him to—Erik isn’t even _in_ college, he doesn’t know why he’s going along with his housemates to a stupid elitist party at their stupid elitist campus—saying something offhanded about the relative sexiness of a man in a wheelchair. 

Erik didn’t even _hear_ the original comment. He would have loved to—Charles refused to fill him in, later, mainly because Charles has strange notions about the acceptability of punching in faces—but as it stood, he’d just returned to sit on the couch with his beer when Charles decided to perform a demonstration for the room.

“Erik, do you mind being an impartial observer? Of course you don’t,” he was told, and Erik got about as far as swallowing a mouthful of beer and coughing out “wha—?” before he had a lap full of Charles. 

Having lived with Charles for a year, Erik has learned a few things:

One, Charles has amazing upper body strength. Like, ridiculous, movie-star, is-he-seriously-just-a-grad-student good, and Erik has definitely spent a lot of time not looking when Charles does much of anything at the house. Transferring from his chair to the couch, carrying in groceries, grabbing his kettle, doing fucking with-the-chair pull-ups on that bar Erik was stupid enough to install _in the front room_ — Well, suffice to say, Erik spends most his time attempting _not_ to look at Charles. 

Two, Charles is one of the most effortlessly sexy people Erik has had the misfortune to meet. He doesn’t suffer fools easy, is frank about his desires, seems to actually have something going with his terrible pick-up lines, and he’s absolutely had sex with more people in the last year than Erik has, period. (Erik is not in a slump, he just got out of a serious relationship a few years ago and now is Looking for the Right Person). As far as Erik’s concerned, it’s 2015 and this shouldn’t even be a question, but if anyone at all needs proof that Charles is enjoying himself on an _absurdly_ regular basis can they please come over and take over Erik's lease because it’s starting to drive him up the wall.

And three, Charles is… _upsettingly_ flexible. Erik doesn’t know much about yoga, period, so he felt it was reasonable he didn’t know about wheelchair yoga. Which Charles teaches. In those moments he’s not at class or studying, or having sex, or _doing pull-ups in front of Erik_. 

Erik’s just lucky if he can manage to see his mom and his kids in the same month. 

Anyway, all this becomes the perfect storm of what is perhaps one of the more terrifying moments in Erik’s life, and he’s been to Iraq. He tries not move. Or breathe. Or otherwise respond in any manner whatsoever as Charles proceeds to use his lap as his own personal stage.

Somehow, he doesn’t completely embarrass himself—though afterward, he must be blushing enough that Charles apologizes, once they’re in private. 

Erik tells him not to worry. He was just happy to help.

Later, Erik will swear he had nothing at all to do with it. But he’ll still be deeply, privately thankful as he lies alone in bed, jerking himself off and wondering how the hell he’s going to get a repeat performance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern AU, same as chapter 4's hipster!Erik powered verse. Thanks to listerinezero who wanted more from this universe, and thanks again to everyone who prompted! <3

_20\. bending in front of the other_

When he thinks about it all later on, Charles probably should have clued in a little sooner. 

(Both Raven and her girlfriend certainly did, that much is obvious in retrospect. How many jars of mustard, pickled watermelon rind, lavender butter, salsa, blackberry spread, _et cetera_ do two women need? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say, and it’s a little humiliating that he couldn’t see why they kept demanding Charles drive them to the market every Saturday when they could damn well drive themselves). 

At the time, though. Well, it’s a crowded market. It’s stressful enough making it from booth to booth in a wheelchair, and it’s not polite to deeply read the minds of strangers, and anyway it’s hard to concentrate with so many individuals all thinking (most of them fixated obsessively on matters as seemingly earth-shattering as whether or not a beekeeper is painting his hives and how natural is this soap, if it’s got lye in it, and he gets a low-grade headache anytime he looks too closely), and Charles is inclined to cut himself a little slack if he maybe didn’t notice Erik at first. 

Perhaps ‘not notice’ isn’t the right term. He definitely notices Erik from the first he sees him standing behind one of the tables, selling artisanal caramels. Even in a veritable sea of tight pants and apparently custom-fitted plaid shirts, Artisanal Caramel Man rather stands out; particularly when the fates align and one box winds up falling off the table, coming to a halt a few feet in front of Charles, and Artisanal Caramel Man has to bend to pick it up--

Okay, so Charles _definitely_ notices Erik. Who couldn’t? 

And the next Saturday, when he finds himself bullied around the market again, and the same guy is selling goatmilk soap and a bar winds up tumbling out in front of Charles…

Or the next, when Charles is patiently following Irene around and he’s behind a booth full of alpaca yarn and a skein just flings itself into the crowd and needs to be retrieved…

Or the next, with the candles, or the next time with the shave cream or--

All told, Erik bends over for him eight times before Charles even gets his name, and yes, maybe Charles should have clued in sooner, but he can’t be too upset with himself.

After all, it’s not like he doesn’t _still_ have Erik bending over for him plenty, now that he knows his name.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Peep Hole (Smut Box Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178626) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




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